


Found in a World of Cruel Stupidity

by Diary



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 05, Awkwardness, Bechdel Test Fail, Canon Disabled Character, Disturbing Themes, Explicit Consent, F/M, Families of Choice, Friends Become Romantic Partners, Gentleman Samwell Tarly, Getting Together, Late Night Conversations, POV Female Character, POV Gilly, Past Child Abuse, Past Incest, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Season/Series 04 AU, Romance, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8960353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: A slightly AU look at Sam/Gilly getting together from Gilly's POV. Complete.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Game of Thrones.

It’s only been a few months since the wilding attack, but already, Mole’s town has been filled back up with people, and Gilly hears men talking about their visits to the brothel.

“Besides when you took me, have you ever gone,” she asks Sam.

He turns red. “Ah, no. Jon and I used to make bets when the others left. About who would- and who would get thrown out, that sort of thing.”

“Did you ever before you took the black?”

“No, I’m a virgin,” he states with a slight hitch to his voice.

“And that bothers you?”

Looking over, he smiles slightly and shakes his head. “No. When I was younger, I was desperate not to be. I wanted so badly to experience that. But as I got older, it became less important. Besides, while there are books on the subject, that’s one of those things a person is either- has a natural aptitude for or doesn’t.”

“Craster didn’t.”

Aside from a few coughs, he doesn’t respond.

…

She remembers when they were making their way to the wall, he was warm, strong, and soft pressed against her underneath the furs. 

Back then, she’d been afraid he’d bed her, but she wouldn’t have fought or even protested. He was the only hope she and her baby had of getting to safety, he’d taken them out of immediate danger in the first place, and later on, he’d managed to kill a White Walker to protect them.

Now, she knows better, and the ache at the thought he never will occasionally sneaks up and gnaws at her.

From listening to the men, she’s learned women being bedded right after childbirth isn’t done. It might occasionally happen, but everyone agrees it shouldn’t and, it seems, most of the crows past the wall follow this.

If Craster wanted a particular wife, it didn’t matter if she were pregnant, had just given birth, or had just lost a baby in the womb.

The men are more divided on whether pregnant women should be bedded.

Baby Sam mostly eats solid foods and drinks goat and cow milk, now, and her bleeding comes regularly every month. If Sam’s only concern was-

She knows it’s not. Sam is kind and gentle with all women, he takes his vows seriously, and they’re friends. He’s the first and probably truest friend she’s ever had. As much as she loved her sisters, they were family, connected by blood.

He kissed her, once, but she’s always been unsure how to bring this up, and he’s never brought it up, either.

…

She often sits in his room while he does reports, and he tells her about noble families and their histories and important things that’ve happened in the land of the crows.

What she finds truly hard to believe is the fact men crows are desperate for sons. Most have little use for girls, and some will do horrible or just stupid things in order to try to get a boy. The fact girls are likely to give them grandsons doesn’t matter.

“Of course, there are exceptions,” he assures her. “Jon’s father, Ned Stark, loved his daughters and gave them all the opportunities there were for young noble ladies. And King Stannis has named Princess Shireen his heiress apparent rather presumptive.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, an heir or heiress apparent is a person who is guaranteed to inherit. Only their premature death or extreme circumstances can displace them. An heir or heiress presumptive, they’re in the succession line, but there’s no guarantee they’ll ever inherit. Usually, when a noble lord or king has daughters, they’re heiresses presumptive while a younger or more distant boy is heir apparent. And the heirs presumptive often rank higher in the succession lines than the heiresses.”

“What about you? If you could have trueborn children, would you want a son or daughter?”

People call her son a bastard, and she holds her tongue. She _was_ married to his father. Just because their laws say a man can’t marry his daughter, this doesn’t automatically mean the gods judge them more right.

If baby Sam were Sam’s, though, he would be a bastard.

She finds she doesn’t care. She’d rather be Sam’s- whatever she could be, whore, mistress, bed-warmer, than Craster’s wife. She’d rather his gentleness and mastery of books run through baby Sam than Craster’s cruel cleverness.

“I wouldn’t care,” Sam answers. “If I’d been lucky enough to have a wife, and we’d had a child, what I’d most pray for is that they be healthy.” Turning more fully towards her, he adds, “Though, I used to think that I’d probably do better with a girl. I’ve usually been able to get on friendly enough terms with most girls. I’ve never been able to bond with my father, brother, or other lads. Jon was the first.”

Coming over, he sits on the bed and looks down at baby Sam. “But then, maybe I’d do alright with a son. This one seems to like me well enough.”

Little Sam blinks up at him, giggles, and raises his arms.

Feeling her heart reacting, Gilly gets up and comes over to the bed.

Picking the baby up, Sam smiles. “Yes. Oh, you’ve got your mother’s strength and cleverness, my brave little lad.”

He looks over at her and smiles, and she desperately wants to kiss him.

Except, he lowers his head back down before she can. She wonders if he saw how much she wanted to, and if he did, did he want it, too?

“I remember the first time I held him, near that heart tree,” Sam continues. “You put him in my arms, and I was so terrified. He was so small. And he was wiggly and unsteady in my arms. I felt sure I’d crush him or drop him or otherwise upset him. He looked up at me with these bright eyes, and I knew he couldn’t really comprehend much, but they were so clear.”

“I’m not strong. Do you really think I’m clever?”

Setting little Sam down, he reaches over and takes her hand. “Gilly, you are. Both of them. I know- I’ve read all my life, and you haven’t. But I promise you, that doesn’t make me smarter. There are some maesters who’ve read even more than I have, and they don’t have anywhere near your cleverness and sense. People can be different types of smart. And-” He gives her an almost unbearably soft look. “Gilly, you’re one of the strongest, bravest people I know.”

She leans over to kiss him-

There’s a knock at the door.

…

The captured wildlings are going to try to convince other wildlings to come past the wall and help fight against the White Walkers.

“I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone,” Jon Snow tells them. “For right now- it might be better if you three move into my room. It’s big enough we can put an extra bed and the baby’s crib in there. It’s nearer Maester Aemon’s as well.”

“We don’t need another bed,” Gilly says. “Sam and I slept together under the furs when we made our way here.”

“Yes, but, um, if you’re sure you don’t mind, Jon, that would be good, thank you. Another bed and the crib.”

“Why,” she asks.

“Most of the men already have ideas,” Jon Snow tiredly tells her. “This’ll only stoke them, but- just remember to lock the door at night. I’m leaving Ghost behind. I don’t want to risk him, and if- if something happens, he’ll let you know.”

Getting up, Sam hugs him, and she notices how easily but heavily Jon Snow returns the embrace.

…

After Jon Snow leaves, Gilly asks, “Is it bad, the men having ideas?”

“For you, yes,” Sam answers. “It makes them think they have a right to- to touch you. And loads of other things.”

“What other things?”

He shakes his head. “I love Dickon dearly, but he was one of the simplest lads I ever did meet. These men, they’re my brothers, but most of them are cruel or stupid or both. It’s best to try to work around them and their ideas as best we can, yeah?”

“What about for you? Is it bad that they have ideas? Because, you could have had me, then. You still could now.”

She fights down the urge to flee the room, and- several expressions rapidly cross Sam’s face, but then, he comes over, takes her hand, and gives her the kind, patient look she takes comfort in and occasionally wants to scream away. “People not understanding is just something we have to deal with. I helped you and baby Sam because it was the right thing to do. But along the way, we became friends. Besides Jon and outside my mother and sisters, I’ve never had someone I liked and trusted so much, Gilly. You might even say, in some ways, me, you, and baby Sam are family. Wherever you and he go, I go.”

Reaching over, he kisses her cheek and wraps an arm around her.

Pressing closer against him, she represses a sigh.

…

Sam and Maester Aemon were the only ones who didn’t look down on her for being one of Craster’s and, worse, think and say horrible things about her baby, and now, there’s just Sam.

After the funeral, she takes little Sam and slips into Sam’s bed.

He’s already half-asleep, and he inquires, “Gilly?”

“It’s sad times,” she tells him. “The door’s locked. No one’s going to know. Let’s sleep, now.”

He makes some protesting noises, but she gets little Sam curled between them, finds one of Sam’s hands with her own, and closes her eyes.

The sleep is fitful, and dead in the night, she wakes to find baby Sam has crawled onto one of the pillows and taken his baby blanket along with him. It’s warm enough in the room she doesn’t bother trying to get him back under furs.

Somehow, she’s ended up pressed closed against Sam, and his strong arms are gently wrapped around her.

She never has before, but in the night, some of her sisters would reach under their nightdresses and smallclothes and make muffled noises. Suddenly, she has the urge to do this now. One of her sisters did tell her, not every woman who does it is able to get anything out of it, but those who are-

Sam is sleeping right beside her, and her son is nearby. Some of what girls and women do when surrounded by sisters likely isn’t something they should do around men and their own boy children.

Some of her sisters _liked_ what Craster did. Some of them wanted to do it with men other than him, and a few of them did things together.

Over these few months, she’d thought she’d come to understand desiring such things, but now, with Sam’s touch and smell surrounding her, now, she truly understands. It’s so deep and strong, she’s almost afraid she’ll choke or catch a fever.

Slipping out of bed, she uses the chamber pot, and then, slips into her own bed.

It’s cold beneath the furs and doesn’t feel as safe.

Closing her eyes, she thinks of the stories she’s read and different facts Sam has told her.

…

Hobb always grumbles when she and little Sam come into the kitchens to work, but as long as the baby’s quiet, he lets them be, and the one time a man tried to touch her, he chased him off with a cleaver.

She’d been shelling peas but had stopped and was just about to mash up some potatoes and mix them with milk for a fussy baby Sam when Olly rushes in, and Hobb sighs.

“I’m not here for food,” Olly tells him. Looking at her, he says, “Um, lady?”

Everyone knows how much little Olly hates wildlings, but she and him had a talk when he first came. He doesn’t mind her, but he’s never been comfortable calling her ‘Gilly’.

“Yes, what is it,” she asks.

“Brother Sam,” he answers. “During the sparring lessons, he slipped on some ice, and they’re taking him to the lord commander’s room.”

She’s halfway down the hall when she realises she left baby Sam behind.

Hobb’s head pops out. “Go. The boy’s feeding the babe.”

“Thank you.” She bops her head and continues running.

…

“Well, this is embarrassing,” Sam says with a wince and a weak smile.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she states.

He gives her a proper smile. “I am. The new maester says I should stay in bed for a day or two. By then, the swelling should be down. Aside from some nasty bruises that will take some time to fade, he doesn’t think there’ll be any long-lasting damage.”

“Good.”

Carefully, she lies down and curls up against him.

“Hey.” He plays with her hair. “Gilly, I’m alright, I promise.”

She looks up, and she doesn’t know how exactly it happened, but they’re kissing.

Since he isn’t protesting, she’s not particularly concerned with the how and why, just the fact it _is_.

When it breaks, she looks down into his eyes. “I want you, Sam. If you want me, you can have me.”

“Gilly-”

She can see in his eyes and feel below his waist how much he wants her, but if he insists on not, she’d never be like Craster. He has to know, though, she can’t let him misunderstand or pretend otherwise.

“Sam. I want you,” she repeats.

Looking at her with incredibly soft eyes, he nods.

She pulls up his sleeping shirt, readjusts his smallclothes and her own, and asks, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he answers. Looking into her eyes, he smiles and softly admits, “I’ve always wanted you, Gilly.”

...

When it’s over, she realises things have truly, completely changed.

Sam’s always said people can’t be stolen, not truly, and she agreed.

The other wildlings have it right, though.

For her son’s sake, she was desperate to leave Craster’s, and Sam helped her. She didn’t really understand or believe it, but she only belonged to herself and baby Sam.

Now, Sam’s gone and stolen her. Her heart and soul’s his. Her body once belonged to Craster, but even before this, it belonged to Sam in a deeper, different way than it ever did Craster. She’ll need to go to Mole’s town and get moon tea soon, but baby Sam belongs to Sam, too, he’s his son, his mother is Sam’s. And if Sam ever wants babies of his blood to grow in her, she’ll gladly do it.

“I love you, Gilly,” he softly says.

Looking up, she says, “You’ve known I’ve loved you for a long time. I’m yours, and you’re mine.”

Thankfully, he nods. “I’m yours, and you’re mine.”

Everything settles in her.

…

Jon Snow comes back, and Sam tells her, “Jon needs me to go to Oldtown to train to be a maester.”

“How will we get there?”

“Gilly-” He takes a breath. “The citadel doesn’t allow women or children. Um,” he watches her carefully, “but Horn Hill, my family home is on the way. If we say that baby Sam is my bastard son, my parents will take care of you and him. You’ll both be safe.”

She doesn’t like the idea, but- little Sam needs safety. The wall isn’t safe but for the fact it’s where Sam lives. She knows Sam taking the black can never be reversed, but maybe, she can make his father see he was wrong. Most noble families don’t like bastards, she knows, but she can convince them it’s different with her, Sam, and little Sam. She can make them like her and see Sam hasn’t been foolish in loving her. Maybe, someday, she can give them a baby truly of his blood. If not, she’ll always feel a bit guilty about the lie, but it’s not fully a lie. Blood isn’t always important, and in every way that matters, little Sam is Sam’s son.

“I understand,” she tells him. “How will we get to Horn Hill?”

Through his relief is confusion. “I’d feel better if you threw something at me and stormed off.”

Shaking her head, she sits down beside him. “I’d never do that to the father of my son.”

He beams, and she continues, “If you think it’s for the best, we trust you.”

Baby Sam crawls over and fusses when Sam tries to pick him up and put him in Sam’s lap.

Eventually, he gets there himself and coos triumphantly.

…

Lady Tarly and Sam’s sister are all lovely, Gilly agrees, and though good-natured, Dickon is rather simple.

Because Randyll Tarly did, Sam is hers and baby Sam’s, but she still has to hold her tongue.

Compared to Dickon- Sam is so smart. He could have made the house richer, he could have directed soldiers with clever battle strategies, he could have given healthy and clever grandbabies. He could have made the Tarly family more _powerful_.

All this, and his father threw it away because he’s not good with fighting with his body.

Men like Dickon, she’d never wish harm on Sam’s brother, but men like him are common. When one falls, it doesn’t particularly matter but to those who love him. Men like Sam, if they aren’t made too scared to speak above a stuttering whisper, they can change the world. Besides saving her and baby Sam, the wall owes a lot to Sam, and for all she and Jon Snow will never be warm towards one another, they can both see this clearly.

Randyll Tarly has made him terrified his whole life, though, and she finds herself so angry.

She was never important to Craster, and Randyll Tarly is too cruelly stupid to see what a blessing his son could have been. Sam could have been almost everything most crow lords want. Ned Stark and Jon Snow had enough to sense to see their Bran still deserved love and had hope despite him being an actual cripple rather than just not good at fighting.

Why, she wonders, do people like me and Sam have to deal with cruel people like our fathers? Why does our son have to live in a world full of them?

…

Sam isn’t exactly angry, but he’s not happy.

“You and baby Sam aren’t staying here. You both deserve better. I- well, honestly, I have no idea what we’re going to do, but- We belong together, all of us.”

She doesn’t need to hear anymore. As she once did, she grabs her baby and Sam’s hand.

In the dining hall, however, she protests, “That’s your father’s sword.”

“It’s my family’s sword,” he says. “If baby Sam grows up to be a fighter, it’ll be his.”

She hopes little Sam grows up more like Sam than Dickon and Randyll Tarly, but the way she sees it: Neither of them believe in White Walkers, and therefore, whether she, Sam, or baby Sam can ever fight properly or not, the sword’s better off in their hands. What’s the point of having a weapon if you don’t even believe there’s any enemy it might be useful against?

…

In the small inn room, he stops talking about all the books. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For leaving you earlier, and for talking your head off about-”

“I don’t mind.” She kisses him. “This is important, and I know how much you love books. And I know you’ll always come back to us.”

He nods. “I’m yours, and you’re mine.”

“Good.” She tugs him down fully onto the bed. Baby Sam’s sleeping peacefully in a drawer, and she’d gotten some moon tea earlier. Husband, lover, whatever the right word for Sam is, he’s _hers_ , and it’s been too long since she’s been with him fully.


End file.
